


Third Time's A Charm

by wunderlichkind



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Outlander Rarepair, Queerlander, Rarepair
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-25
Updated: 2018-05-25
Packaged: 2019-05-13 15:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14751722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wunderlichkind/pseuds/wunderlichkind
Summary: John Grey has been Jamie Fraser's business partner for years. He's also had a crush on him for just as long. Everything suddenly changes, when Fraser's nephew returns from America and joins his uncle's business.





	Third Time's A Charm

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever Outlander fanfic and my second ever English fic. It is unbetaed and I haven't written anything else in ages, so please keep that in mind while reading.

He had been working with James Fraser for a few years now and he’d admittedly had the hots for the guy for just as long. John Grey sighed and gave himself a last thorough one-over in the hallway mirror before stepping into the main event room of the distillery where quite the crowd had gathered for today’s introduction of James Fraser’s newest whiskey.  
Fraser spotted him almost immediately and John had to make an effort to keep himself from checking his appearance _again_ when the man approached him with a smile.  
„John! It’s sae good to see ye, my friend. I’m glad ye could make it!“  
Fraser greeted him with a warm handshake.  
„I wouldn’t miss it for the world! Very excited to see what you’ve been cooking up.“ John answered, mirroring the other’s smile.  
„Oh, ye’ll love it, I promise! Speaking of it, there’s someone I’d like ye to meet... Ian! Get over here, lad!“, he beckoned to a young man standing close-by.   
„This is my nephew, Ian. He’s returned from a rather extended stay in the states a few months ago and he’s for the most part responsible for the new receipe.“  
The first thing John noticed were the faded tattoos Fraser’s nephew wore on his face. They just barely stood out against his tanned skin and yet John had a hard time focusing on anything else.  
„Traditional Mohawk clan marks.“   
Ian answered the unspoken question with a glint in his eyes so like his uncles that John felt himself blush. He hastily took the younger man’s hand and introduced himself: „John Grey – I own a chain of restaurants and have been working with your uncle for several years now. Nice to meet you.“  
„Likewise“, Ian offered.  
„Well, i’ll leave ye two to it and go mingle a bit more. This one’s story’ll keep ye entertained, John, I promise.“ And with that Fraser was gone.  
„Uhm.. so, how does a Scot come to wearing Mohawk clan marks?“, John offered after a bit of awkward silence during which he was pretty sure that Fraser’s nephew was unashamedly checking him out.  
Thankfully, that seemed like it had been the right question. From there on out, their conversation started to flow freely and John had to admit that Ian’s story was in fact fascinating.   
After graduating high school, Ian had been backpacking around the USA with some friends for several months when they had come across the Akwesasne Mohawk Reservation in the state of New York. Initially they had only meant to stay for the „Strawberry Music Festival“ and Ian’s friends stuck with that plan. But Ian stayed. During the music festival he had met Emily, the girl he would later get married to.  
„And it has been nearly eight years since. I’ve only just returned to Scotland last spring.“  
„Why did you come back?“, John asked.  
Ian regarded him with a curious look. „Seems like maybe I wasna meant for marriage“, he finally offered with a shrug and a lop-sided smile.  
„Oh.“ John felt himself blush. „I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.“  
„Oh no, dinna fash.“ Ian’s face was already back to that curious grin that crept right under John’s skin and left him with some sort of an itch he couldn’t seem to shake.  
„Now, will ye excuse me? I have to start things off or ye’ll never get around to tasting the new whiskey.“  
And that was the first time John met Ian Murray.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The second time he met Fraser’s nephew took him completely by surprise.  
He had just filled out the newest order of whiskey for the restaurants and had meant to quickly drop it off at his business partner’s home as he had done several times before. Usually Fraser would offer John a drink and that drink came with the possibility to stare at him for a while. It also came with the company of him and his wife – whom John adored by the way, even though he admittedly was not a big fan of their marriage.  
This time though, when Lallybroch’s front door opened there was something entirely new to stare at.  
First of all, Ian Murray was shirtless.   
„Oh..“, was all John managed to say while the tiny part of his brain still functioning normally tried like hell to stop him from ogling the younger man’s well-defined, tan chest. And. Was that a piercing? My god!   
John finally managed to focus on the rest of Ian when said object of his admiration cleared his throat.  
„Uhm, hello. Can I maybe help ye with something?“  
„I... I’m actually looking for your uncle?“  
It came out as more of a question than an answer when the rest of Ian’s appearance started flooding John’s synapses.   
Not only was the lad shirtless, he was also sleepy-eyed, his tousled hair falling open to his shoulders. He was barefoot and wearing only a pair of soft grey track pants which hung low on his hips. So low that John was pretty sure that they were in fact the _only_ piece of clothing Ian was wearing. That realization immediately sent John’s blood boiling both to his face and regions way farther south.  
„He’s not home right now“, Ian answered and that sly grin was back on his face. John felt transparent and silly and terribly embarassed.  
„But maybe I can do something for ye instead?“, the lad went on, grin never wavering, one hand absent-mindedly scratching the skin just left of his belly-button.  
„I... uhm... actually, will you pass this on?“  
John practically shoved the papers into Ian’s hand and was already halfway down the steps before he turned again and muttered a shaky „sorry for the disturbance“.  
He was back to fleeing when a small echoe of their first meeting reached him with a low chuckle: „Dinna fash, Mr. Grey...“

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Isobel laughed at him all through dinner and she was still laughing after they had left the restaurant and were on their way to their favourite bar two blocks over. She was right, obviously, his crush on Fraser’s nephew was ridiculous, not to mention the way he had handled himself. So the later the evening, the more relaxed John became. Eventually he could even enjoy Isobel’s good-natured teasing, especially after two or three generous servings of whiskey had eased his nerves. Thank god for good friends, he thought, just when someone called out to him from across the street.  
„John! John Grey!“  
He wished for a giant hole to open up on the street and swallow him. Of all the places to run into him, why did he have to randomly meet Ian Murray again on a nightly street when he was with Isobel nonetheless?  
He turned slowly. „Ian Murray“, he acknowledged.   
„And his hord“, Isobel added, so stunned by the mass of young men suddenly in front of them that she completely forgot to make fun of John.  
„Oh aye, it’s my friend Fergus’ stag night“, Ian explained and padded a flushed young lad to his right on the shoulder.   
Isobel’s smile was back and she regarded John with a mischievous glint in her eyes before she turned back to Ian.  
„Where are you guys headed? Ever been to _Gold_? It’s right around the corner.“  
John inwardly groaned and made a mental note to make Isobel pay for that one.   
_Gold_ was a relatively new, very hip gay club. So much about the few relaxed hours in his favourite bar he had been looking forward to.  
John’s weak resolve to protest crumbled when he looked up and realized that the group had already moved on towards the corner, Isobel laughing on Ian’s arm.   
„That woman is the devil“, John muttered under his breath and started trudging after them.

He was leaning on the bar and nursing his fifth drink which was doing a lot in terms of making the loud music tolerable and his mind and body relax. The crowd was swaying on the dance floor, so as not to say grinding and the air was hot and humid. John felt a slight touch to his shoulder when Ian took the spot next to him and he turned his head toward the younger man. Ian’s hair was braided back but a few strands had escaped and framed his heated face. He looked absolutely stunning and John couldn’t help but being reminded of seeing Ian in a completely different, equally stunning state.  
„She’s something, yer Isobel“, Ian stated and shot John a look he couldn’t quite place.  
„Oh yes, she’s one of my oldest friends“, John answered. „Although I’ve come close to strangling her on numerous occasions.“ Including tonight, John added silently. Ian’s surprised hoarse answering laugh crept over John’s arms in goose bumps.  
„Weel, I like her“, Ian stated, as if he’d just made up his mind and then that mysterious look was back in his eyes. Pondering possibilities? Assessing? Judging? John suddenly wasn’t sure where the heat simmering under his skin came from.  
„So will ye stop brooding up here now and come dance wi’ me?“  
Ian didn’t even wait for an answer, instead taking John’s hand and dragging him behind to the crowded dancefloor below. John was so stunned, he let himself be lead silently, reveling in the warm firmness of Ian’s hand around his. He decided to ignore the knowing smirk Isobel directed at him when they passed her and instead focused on the pulsing beat and the way it made Ian’s hips sway ahead of him. It was a thing of beauty and John found it surprisingly easy to let himself get caught up in it for the next few minutes, swaying his hips in turn and focusing only on movement. That’s why it took him by surprise when the DJ switched to a slower song and he felt the lad’s hands reach for him.  
„Oh“, he breathed, Ian’s face suddenly only inches from his own, his look burning holes into John’s barely held-together façade.  
„Isobel told me, she’d heard about me from ye.“ Ian smirked at him, one eyebrow raised, one of his hands just barely caressing the back of John’s neck.  
Well, fuck it, John thought. Fuck pretense, fuck appearances. It was clear the guy was very aware of his effect on John and he didn’t seem to mind, so why not roll with it?  
„I, uh... might have mentioned you.“ John slowly placed his hands on Ian’s hips, bringing them even closer together. „And your track pants“, he added grinning slightly.  
„What an impression those must’ve made“, Ian laughed quietly.  
„It was mostly the person wearing them“, John admitted.  
„Good“, the younger man leant into him and when he went on it was barely loud enough for John to hear over the slow beat of the music but close enough for him to practically feel it on his skin. „Because my track pants distinctly remember the impression ye’ve left on me.“

The next thing John remembered was the cool air in the alley behind the club whispering over his skin in stark contrast to Ian’s hot hands pushing him against the brick wall, touching him everywhere at once. He had a hard time focusing, his entire skin felt alight and buzzing, his thoughts were racing.  
„Ian“, he rasped, getting a distracted „mmh?“ as an answer mumbled against the skin of his neck.  
„Ian, are you... sure... you want this?“, John finally managed to say, grabbing the other by the shoulders and forcing him to meet his eyes.  
„Did I seem like I wasna sure about this?“, Ian answered in a sarcastic tone, raising his eyebrows.  
„No, I... But why me? I’m like 12 years older than you!“  
„Christ, John, ye’ve really no clue what ye do to me... Staring at me wi’ those clear blue eyes... Showing me all yer impure thoughts, it’s like I’m at the adult theater... Ye think that has no effect on me? Ye think I give horseshit about yer age?“  
The last time arousal and embarrassment had met eachother that intimately, he’d still been a horny teenager, not even out of the closet yet, John thought absent-mindedly. He was transfixed by Ian’s stare, still mysterious to him, even though he now saw his own impure thoughts reflected brightly in it.  
„Oh fuck it!“, he breathed, jumping over his own shadow for the second time this night and lurching forward to finally kiss the lad’s brave lips.  
Ian reprocicated with all he had to give, with teeth and tongue and a fierce need that had John instantly hard. He felt drunk and it had nothing to do with the whiskey he’d had.  
Ian’s hands were under his shirt and they felt hot, scorching even, their touch making John burn with the same need radiating off the other man.   
He couldn’t feel the cold brick on his back anymore. His entire body was consumed by Ian’s heat as he pressed himself impossibly closer into John.  
It was clear then that Ian was just as affected as him, when their hard lenghts were pressed together through the layers of clothing and Ian let out a low moan that caused John to lightly buck his hips.  
„A Diah!“, Ian exclaimed and started rutting back against him, claiming John’s mouth with his own, swallowing all further sounds until John wasn’t sure he could even make sounds any longer, until the only thing John was sure of was the very real, all-consuming presence of this lad and the overwhelming waves of lust he caused and he needed... Needed so much.  
His hands had developed a life of their own, opening Ian’s fly and reaching for his leaking cock, stroking slowly once, twice, then ever more urgently. Ian’s head dropped to John’s shoulder. He was panting, muttering curses under his breath and he was so beautiful, flushed and wanting, John never wanted to look away. Ian made an almost pained sound then, gripping him even tighter and John couldn’t keep his head from dropping back against the club’s wall when he felt the other man’s hot come spilling over his hand.  
„God, John... Ye’re unbelievable“, Ian rasped against his neck, kissing and sucking lazily. „Who knew ye were such a little slut.“  
His teasing sounded wrecked and it pushed John over the edge so fast, he only remembered to breathe after the waves of pleasure slowly died down.  
„Yeah, who knew...“, John muttered and gratefully took the tissue Ian handed him to wipe his hand somewhat clean. „It’s been a long time someone made me come in my pants“, he added. „And in a dark alley nontheless.“   
Ian gave a soft laugh and leaned in closer: „Let’s go home and get ye out of these ruined pants then, so we can do this again properly, what do ye say?“  
John said nothing. He just followed the boy and let himself get lost in wonder (and other things).  
Late that night, he remembered to text Isobel to let her know he was safe and with Ian and when his phone pinged with her answer he was half asleep already.  
„Glad you managed not to embarrass yourself again. Seems like third time’s a charm.“


End file.
